Blackjack
by KarotsaMused
Summary: The actions of one man have a ripple effect, resulting in changes nobody planned on.
1. By Night

A/N: Disclaimer: Saiyuki isn't mine.  
  
Hello, folks! Welcome to the Kougaiji-centric sequel to "Eights and Aces." Blackjack should be pretty interesting - I've got some fun ideas. All (or...many) of your questions regarding Kougaiji (and some other people, too!) will be answered! Woo!  
  
Yes, Virginia, this is an AU. So all newcomers who aren't totally turned off by that, go read "Eights and Aces" and corresponding one-shots first. Otherwise you prolly won't understand -any- of this. Heck, even if you've read "Eights and Aces" some of this might be confusing. So I, your benevolent authoress, have decided to put up the chronology:  
  
Eights and Aces (winter-spring year one), Two Steps Back (early spring year one), Gin (early spring year one), Chocolate Ears (Easter year three), Sleeping Alone (late summer year five), Blackjack start (winter year five), Meetings (autumn year six). I dunno when Blackjack's gonna end, but it'll definitely be around year six or seven.   
  
I was unable to with the one-shots, but I'll do it now: at the end of every chapter, I am gonna reply to reviews. Yup, just like in the first one. One final note: I haven't seen all (or even most) of the Saiyuki anime, and the manga is pretty foreign to me as well. While I've got a pretty good grasp on the Sanzo-ikkou, the Kougaiji-tachi are still kinda far out of my reach. If anybody could point me to fics in which they (and the Homura-tachi, too!) are characterized well...or if they just want to explain stuff to me, I'd be much obliged. Eh-heeehhh...  
  
Okay, I'll shut up now. Happy readage, my loves!  
  
***  
  
He grimaced. "Put that out."  
  
The cigarette was lazily sucked dry, the flame extinguished under its own ash. The butt was tossed into darkness, casually thrown over a burly shoulder. The smoker exhaled slow and easy, blowing haze into the sky. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his breaths coming after not much clearer than the one adulterated with nicotine and tar. The movement released the smell of treated leather and cologne that had soaked into the fabric of his clothes. He was not in fine clothing; his companion looked equally normal. Blue jeans, boots, generic dark t-shirts. Leather jackets. They almost matched, enough to promote some sense of solidarity without appearing as an intended couplet. There had been some thought to it.  
  
"You said you've seen this guy before. What're you so nervous for?" the smoker asked, leaning casually against the chain-link fence behind him. The metal creaked under his weight, clinking as it molded to him and pressed into his coat. There was a white bandage over the bridge of his nose, on which a set of violet-lensed sunglasses rested. To his left, a building steamed from the heat vents, catching the glow from streetlights and scattering it through pollution-whorled air. He leaned heavy on his right elbow, staring at his companion.  
  
"I'm not nervous. You haven't met him. You won't be able to relax around him," he responded, his voice barely louder than a whisper. His brilliant crop of fire-red hair was corralled under a gray knit cap, but the sideburns that stuck out were bright against the darkness. He stood nearly immobile, the picture of stoicism, but his breaths came slightly faster than normal.  
  
Five hard years had taken their toll upon this body. His limbs were wires attached to the coiled spring in the base of his mind, immensely strong, instinctive and sensitive. His senses had been honed to the extent of a predator's, lending to a confidence that no longer had him reaching for the knives in his belt. His breathing was always, always at a measured tempo. The change was disturbing.  
  
This man had once been naïve, desperate for money, for safety, for welfare. There had been an offer he could not refuse. An offer that had seemed so easy to take. He had gone out into the world to try. The money came, first slowly and then in a steadier stream. Night after night, he came back with bruises, broken bones, bleeding wounds. Concealed tears. He would not sleep for the aching in him, for his inability to breathe from fractured ribs or spasming organs, racked with pain and lucid nightmares. The first two years nearly killed him.  
  
Five hard years had taken their toll upon his body. They had made him strong and hard and cold in tremendous ways. He walked differently, with his head stolidly ahead to not meet the eyes of passersby. He walked with purpose, always with somewhere to go. He walked not like he owned the world, but like he knew it closely as the feel of his clothes on his back. He spoke differently, with carefully chosen words littered at times with appropriate curses like endearments. He spoke with purpose, always with some manipulation or meaning. He spoke not like he held the attention of his listeners, but like he always was about to lose it. And at times that was what he wanted.  
  
Living at home, at the place he still called home but was not really home, grew harder. He spent his nights there most often, contributed what money he could to the communal pot, but it had not felt like home for ages. There was no glow to it, but a sense of purity marred whenever he stepped inside. A haven uncomfortable like a hospital because he could never just stay and be cared for. And they, the women, did not understand the change in his manner.  
  
Five hard years had taken their toll upon him. He no longer talked easily or was even friendly most times. He tested patience as he tested the limits of his refined testosterone. His smiles, which had once come so quickly, were few and so far between. His temper, which had once given him such humanity and lent for the growth of the relationships he cherished, was now carefully reined in. He was afraid of hurting them, and they only wondered at his restraint. He no longer showed his love, because love was a weakness to be exploited, almost as potent as hate.  
  
There had been one night where he'd come back alone and been shoved hard into the wall so his blood splattered and stained the moss green paint. His breath had come out in a high hiss and he'd fought with the urge to shove back until the words that had to be said left the attacker's mouth. There had been an agreement while wounds were cleaned. There had been a promise, and a handshake, and they had gone to bed but not slept at all.  
  
Dokugakuji had not left his side since then. Even if it meant he went to work bleary-eyed and bruised in the morning, he stayed. They had taken beatings together, fobbed off mobs together, built a reputation together. But this was a man Doku had yet to meet.  
  
"Kougaiji. Long time no see, my boy." The voice was low and the air cringed against it, burned. Doku inclined his head and saw immediately why even Kougaiji was unsettled. The man had an air of wrongness about his face, in minutest details that lent to a strange disproportionality of his features. There was nothing particularly sinister about neither pieces nor whole, but Doku's stomach knotted just the same. His face was white against the night, white as the moon and curled in a crooked-tooth smile. Three of them were gold. He wore a fur coat against the cold, but his head was bare and his eyes were unshaded. Even the hand he extended in greeting was bare, so the rings on his fingers could glint like liquid in the lamplight. Kougaiji nodded to him, but did not raise his hand.  
  
"Who's your friend?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow at Dokugakuji. The bigger man had learned to stay silent, to let Kougaiji answer for him.  
  
"Business partner. Have you reached your decision?" he asked softly, deftly stepping between Doku and the man to which he spoke. His eyes were noncommittal, but his breathing had yet to slow. A smile opened like a fissure in the man's face, far different from the jovial greeting of a few moments before. This was a predator's smile, a baring of teeth, a show of strength. A challenge.  
  
"I have. My associates and I have decided that a partnership with you would be, in fact, profitable."  
  
Kougaiji did not visibly relax, but Doku knew this was the preferred result. "We operate on trust of my word. Shake my hand and the pact is sealed."  
  
The smile turned lethal. "Of course, my boy. And that is why, if anything should go wrong..."  
  
If Kougaiji had not turned his head at that exact instant, his nose would have been blown clear off of his face. As it was, four lines were scarred down his cheek in quick succession, from two separate directions. He tilted his jaw so the lines of blood did not drip. He bared his neck to the man in this manner, and a slow grin stretched his features. Doku watched Kougaiji, vulnerable and bleeding and grinning, and shuddered just a little inside.  
  
The only real reason for Kougaiji's actions lay with his mother. For years since she'd been interred in the hospital with breast cancer, he'd labored to pay the bills for her treatment. Her insurance had been virtually nil thanks to her deadbeat husband, leaving the payments on Kougaiji's shoulders. He wouldn't accept aid from anyone, but worked himself to the bone doing hard labor and odd jobs on the side. He barely ate unless someone shoved the food down his throat, and he'd collapse every Sunday morning before dragging himself off again that very afternoon. Complications of a tumor removal surgery had left his mother comatose, and continually supporting her in the hope she would one day wake up had really taken a toll on him. When his half-sister's mother had offered to pay for everything, including reimbursement of fees he'd already paid, she had seemed a godsend. Now, standing in awe of his best friend's madness, Doku wasn't so sure.  
  
The two shook hands, and Kougaiji watched him walk away. "It won't be long now, Doku."  
  
"Come on. It's nearly midnight and your blood's freezing on your face." Doku waited for Kougaiji to turn to him before reaching his arm out for touch. Coming up to Kougaiji from behind was no longer a friendly gesture, but worthy of having the 'attacker's' arm ripped off. Kougaiji did not so much relax into the feeling but allowed Doku to put his arm around his shoulders, and let himself be led to his house. 


	2. By Day

A/N: Hello, and welcome to chapter two!  
  
Few thoughts before you start this: If you've read Cornerstone, a few names will be familiar. I just needed names, really. You don't -have- to know them. But if you do, this could be a mild little serendipity. Hee. Furthermore, I prove that having read the one-shots is beneficial. A certain blonde is back. Also, the song mentioned is "Valley Winter Song" by Fountains of Wayne. I was going to do Steely Dan's "Gaslighting Annie" but decided against it at the last moment ^.^  
  
Notes to reviewers at the end...  
  
***  
  
She wiped sweat from beneath her bright bangs and readjusted her microphone. "That's it! Left hook five times. One, two, keep your feet moving! Always on your toes! Now right hook!" Guitars screamed from the stereo speakers behind her, wailing over her voice and thrashing to a cymbal-bruising beat. She could have easily yelled over the music, but the next day would have been too hoarse to speak. Thus, the microphone curled over her ear, bouncing in rhythm with her steps. She, like many of the people sweating to keep up, was clad in black workout clothing, with leather training gloves that left her fingers in the open air. Instead of sneakers, she had on heavy boots, more like training weights than to fit in with her students.  
  
"Keep the feet going! Water break when this song ends!" she called, giving them all an encouraging grin. At these words, a few started to sag. When the song ended, she flicked the stereo off and let them go, bending over into an easy stretch. After doing this for so long, she no longer had to push herself with even advanced classes. She'd been working at the alternative exercise clinic for a few years, having originally taken the job as a summer placebo after high school and then deciding to continue it while she attended college to become a physical trainer. But, as graduation loomed, she found herself wishing she could just continue where she was. Things were so -important- close to home.   
  
One of her students came up to her. He was neither out of breath nor sweating like a hog, but rather seemed invigorated. Unlike most of the other patrons, he wore a white t-shirt and soccer shorts, not a scrap of black spandex to be seen. "Lirin...I know you! Hey, remember me? Goku?"  
  
She blinked at him, racking her brains. "Um. Oh! Sanzo's pet!" She grinned when he frowned. "Good to see you, Goku. What are you doing with yourself now?"  
  
Goku shrugged and took a drink from a bottle of water. "Nothing much. Gotta stay in shape." He glanced around conspiratorially. "Don't spread it around, but I'm working for the police department."  
  
"Have I done anything wrong?" she asked, laughter in her voice.  
  
Goku smiled. "I'll have to look that up. And if you want to know about Sanzo, he's a priest."  
  
Lirin raised both her eyebrows. "No."  
  
Goku nodded, his smile never faltering. "Everybody says that. He is, though. Is it so hard to picture?"  
  
"Yes." They both laughed, and she glanced down at her watch. "Oi, help me get everybody back in here? After the water break is always the hardest." Goku grinned and they headed out to play round-up.  
  
*  
  
Afternoon was always so slow. The few workers with staggered lunch breaks, the tourists. No tourists ever came in the winter. Everybody stayed home on Sunday afternoons. Sunday afternoons were the worst. She sighed, perched in one of the booths she would have served had it not been empty. Red plastic sucked at the bare skin of her legs, but she was more grateful for the warmth inside. The winter outdoors raised painful goosebumps whenever the door swung open.  
  
One of her coworkers, a slim young man with a mess of black curls, slipped a quarter into the jukebox. It was one of the things she liked about the diner, that jukebox. It had blue and yellow neon rimming the panels and lit tubes of bubbles that never, ever popped. The machine clinked, and the whir of machinery sang in the silence for a moment before the music began to play.  
  
He looked around and smiled a bit at her, crossing to sit on the other side of her booth. "Don't you love Sundays, Yaone?"  
  
She smiled a little for him. "Better than Friday nights."  
  
He laughed, a sound anyone who knew him knew too well. He was always quick to show joy, but his temper often surfaced with the same ease. He leaned back against the red booth and straightened his white collar, singing along to the music. "The snow is comin' down on our New England town, and it's been fallin' all day long..."  
  
Yaone sighed, looking out the window. "Looks like it could happen, doesn't it?"  
  
He looked where she did and raised his eyebrows. "Probably. Do I know how to pick songs or what?" He grinned at her and she smiled back, attention drawn away from the dreary weather.  
  
"Sure. Look, there's someone. Ren, you take him." Yaone pointed to her legs. "It hurts to stand up." And she wasn't too comfortable with the noise unsticking her skin from the booth would make either.  
  
Her companion raised an eyebrow at her, but rose to meet the customer. Not for the first time, Yaone cursed the fact that he could wear pants while she, at all times, had to wear a skirt. And then smiled a bit at the thought of Higurawa Ren with his legs bared to mid-thigh.  
  
The customer smiled at her when he was shown his seat, and she smiled back out of courtesy. She stared at the clock for a few moments. Her shift ended in twenty minutes.  
  
Five minutes left. Yaone blinked and realized she'd lost track of time, simply staring at the clock. The customer paid Ren and left, immediately putting his hat on against the chill. Ren smiled at her.  
  
"We can cut out early, you think? Jiro just got in." Yaone nodded. Jiro could take care of things and she wanted out of her uniform. They retired to the bathrooms at the back of the kitchen for employee use and changed quickly. Ren offered to walk her home, but she turned him down. She turned him down every day. She never saw the point to it; he lived in a different direction than she did. But she smiled at him and walked away, and he watched her go.  
  
*  
  
Oil everywhere. He glared at the newest hired hand and shoved a towel at him as he spluttered. "Have you -ever- touched a car before?" he growled, exasperated. "Move."  
  
As the kid cleaned himself up, Dokugakuji made quick work of the task that should have been completed a while back, and shoved the wrench into the back pocket of his coveralls. "The oil needed to be changed anyway," he called back. "Change it out, see if you get that right." He retreated to the stairs that led him to ground level, and got a cup of water from the cooler. Staying up late had gotten to his amiable personality, lending to an uncharacteristic shortness of his proverbial fuse. This had not been the first outburst, and he knew it would not be the last.   
  
A voice cut through the waiting room. "Oi, greasemonkey."  
  
Dokugakuji glanced up, a frown on his face. It disappeared when he met smiling green eyes. "Yes, ma'am?"  
  
"I've got a part what needs looking at." She cocked her head to the side. "I'm told you're hands-on when it comes to getting the job done."  
  
"Now where did you hear that?" he countered, smiling as she grinned at him. She laughed and kissed his mouth, standing at a distance to keep the oil and grease from his body away from her clothes.   
  
"Hey, baby. Just droppin' in. Don't got work today and I'm bored." She absently flicked her belly ring. "Anything for me to do?"  
  
"That won't get me fired?" He shrugged. "Know much about cars?"  
  
She blinked slowly and twirled a golden curl about her finger. "Um. They go 'vroom.'" Doku smirked and she frowned at him. "Now, don't go making fun of me just 'cause -you're- a mechanic. Osmosis doesn't work like that."  
  
Doku loved her for that. She could always make him laugh. Always. He was about to respond when a muffled cry signaled another mistake from down below. He gave a frustrated little hiss. "Gotta go, Reno," he said, kissing her and diving down the stairs. There would be hell to pay for this.  
  
*  
  
"Hn. So this is where you work, Kougaiji."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I admire a man that's not afraid to work with his hands."  
  
"The work isn't admirable."  
  
"Your spirit is. I like you, Kougaiji."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"You want to know how it went?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Perfectly. I like you, Kougaiji. You've got a good head on your shoulders."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"When do you get off? I'll take you to dinner."  
  
"I don't. But I appreciate the gesture."  
  
"Nonsense. Come with me and you'll take the night off early. Your boss can't be that much of a tightass."  
  
"What do you plan to do?"  
  
"Me? Nothing. These two behind me will do everything. No worries, Kougaiji. We'll take care of you. I like you."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
***  
  
Notes n stuff:  
  
Keistje: I'm glad you like it so far. Hee. Trust me, this will be...interesting. It's a slow buildup, but you know what comes to those who wait!  
  
Merf: It'll be thoroughly explained...later. And in pieces. Like a good puzzle. Because I'm evil. Woo!  
  
UltraM2000: I laughed so hard when I read your review. That -would- have been pretty interesting...but no. No, no, no. There is a very short scene in E&A in which Nii is mentioned as their neighbor with a penchant for stuffed bunnies and extension cords. He's got a very different part in this whole mess, that I can promise you. The guy in the fur coat was actually based half on Ron White and this nightmare I had about a woman who wouldn't leave me alone b/c she wanted me to take her survey. She had teeth like chiclets and wouldn't stop smiling. Ehhh...she was the creepy part of him. Heh. 


	3. Evening

A/N: Welcome to the Frustrating Chapter. It took me a while to write, and it's short. Don't shoot me, please!  
  
Notes to reviewers at the end...  
  
***  
  
Lirin rubbed her hair out with a towel, idly drawing smiley faces in the condensation on the bathroom mirror. Yaone would kill her for leaving fingerprints, but it was too hard to resist. Said roommate was cooking something; Lirin could smell it, and her stomach voiced its excitement rather vehemently. She took her time, though, brushing out her hair and tying it back in a loose tail so the ends dripped water down her back. Getting dressed was annoying in the humidity, as her clothes stuck to her skin, but she managed well enough without leaning against the wall for balance. Tatty blue jeans and an equally-loved t-shirt that at one point, Lirin was sure, had long sleeves. The cold of winter evening chilled the windows but inside the house was warm like the promise of Christmas.  
  
Lirin tossed her dirty clothes into a hamper and sauntered to the kitchen, taking her time because the last time she surprised Yaone, she had to clean soup off the ceiling. Whatever she was making smelled a lot like onions and spices, which could never be a bad thing.  
  
"Any left for me?" a deep, male voice asked from behind her. Lirin whirled and grinned at Dokugakuji. He was coated in oil and sweat in black smears that ran from forehead to neck and nearly dripped from his hands.  
  
"Hot water? Probably, if you're fast." She winked at him and he frowned, but understandingly. They both worked hard and were entitled to any luxuries afforded at home. "Ask Yaone-chan real nice and maybe she'll rub your back."  
  
Doku blinked. "Oh, speaking of, tell her I'm going to go see Reno after I'm cleaned up."  
  
"You won't eat?" When Doku shook his head, Lirin shrugged. "More for me!" He smiled at her and ducked into the bathroom. Lirin turned and made her way toward the kitchen once more.  
  
"Smells great!" she greeted.  
  
Yaone turned and smiled tiredly at her. "I just threw it together. I hope it won't be too bad." She turned back to the stove and asked, "How was your day?"  
  
Lirin hoisted herself onto the counter and swung her feet. "Not so bad. Do you remember Sanzo? I brought him over once. He was blonde."  
  
Yaone smiled. "And the only boy you've ever brought over. Did you see him?" she asked. Lirin reached over to nab a taste and Yaone smacked her wrist with the spatula. "Shrimp are almost done. Patience."  
  
Lirin rubbed her wrist. "No, I didn't. But his friend is taking my class now. Told me he became a priest."  
  
"The friend or Sanzo?"  
  
"Sanzo." Lirin shrugged. "Kind of weird, but hey. Ulgh, I've got school tomorrow," she whined, rapidly changing the subject."  
  
Yaone was not deterred so easily. "Don't call someone 'weird' just because they've chosen an occupation that doesn't involve kickboxing. Did you have any homework?"  
  
Lirin laughed. "I'm not in grade school anymore. Nothing that can't be put off." She lifted her legs so Yaone could open the drawer beneath them and wiggled her bare toes in the air. "I get a choice now. Either a physical trainer at some gym or work at a hospital or for a sports team."  
  
"Well, what do you want to do?" Yaone asked, swiping her finger in the sauce and taking a taste. "Answer while you set the table."  
  
"Is onii-chan going to be home anytime soon?" Lirin asked. When Yaone shrugged, Lirin frowned. "Two, then." When Yaone glanced questioningly at her, she responded, "Doku's going to see Reno," with a laugh. At that moment, a yelp came from the bathroom. "And I didn't leave him much hot water."  
  
Yaone laughed softly at that, deciding not to chide Lirin just this once. She turned off the stove and served Lirin and herself, taking a seat at the table. It felt empty. The water shut off and Doku walked into the kitchen with a towel about his waist. Neither woman thought to blush.  
  
"This smells really good. I'm almost sorry I've got somewhere else to go," he said, patting Yaone's shoulder.  
  
She smiled wryly at him. "Almost. Do you know where Kougaiji is?"  
  
Doku glanced at the clock on the wall. "Huh. He should be in by now." He shrugged. "Well, you can never hold -him- to a tight schedule anymore. Probably had to work overtime." Doku grabbed a shrimp out of the pan and popped it into his mouth. He left the kitchen, but not before tugging on Lirin's ponytail. She grinned.  
  
"You weren't fast enough is all," she called after him. Neither woman realized how easy the lies were coming to Dokugakuji. Covering for Kougaiji had become his second job, smooth as truth. 'Overtime' hardly ever meant Kougaiji was still employed in physical labor for pay. But it was a word they would accept when he was late. Doku used it often in regards to both Kougaiji and himself.  
  
Yaone moved her food around on her plate. "We eat alone a lot more often, don't we, Lirin?" she asked.  
  
Lirin paused mid-chew to consider this. She swallowed and said, "This is awesome stuff, Yaone. I like it when you throw things together."  
  
*  
  
"Are you a gambling man, Kougaiji?"  
  
"How could I not be?"  
  
"Very true. What's your game of choice."  
  
"Blackjack."  
  
"That answer came quickly. Well, I know a little place where we can play."  
  
"Please, I don't want to waste any more of your time."  
  
"Nonsense. You let me take you to dinner, didn't you?"  
  
"Yes. Thank you."  
  
"Come on, Kougaiji. What have you got to lose?"  
  
"But..."  
  
"You've made me a happy man. I'd like to repay you."  
  
"Dinner was payment enough."  
  
"Waste an evening with me. I like you, Kougaiji."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"I don't like being snubbed, Kougaiji. Are you snubbing me?"  
  
"Not at all."  
  
"Then come and play Blackjack. Unless there's something more important for you to be doing?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Good. I like you, Kougaiji."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
***  
  
Notes:  
  
Keistje: I've been doing this partially to indulge myself, and partially because it's important to the plot. I'm glad you're not tired of wading through it, because it -does- mean something. Plus, it helps me figure out the characters more ^.^  
  
UltraM: *giggle* that was mainly the reason I gave Lirin that job. I couldn't figure out anything else that would really fit her. Unless she was a professional speed-eater or something, but then Goku would win every time. Yes, Doku with Reno. I laughed maniacally when I thought -that- one up. It's just plain fun! And, um, that's a very scary nightmare right there. Lol tickle-monster...that's actually pretty awesome. And did you ever see the live-action Dennis the Menace movie? When he knocks out some of Mr. Wilson's dentures and replaces 'em with chiclets? That's what I mean ^.-  
  
Yasu: Hee, the Reno thing is popular, I can tell. It's one of my favorite minor twists. Now that I've sort of explained the characters a bit, I'll get into what Kougaiji is planning. It's kind of complex and a few shades of crazy. But I like it ^.^  
  
Merf: Hee, Ren just struck me as a guy who'd work in a diner and like Fountains of Wayne. I have a couple classes with a guy that inspired him ^.^ As an answer to the Doku/Gojyo relation question, I snuck in a beensy paragraph in "Sleeping Alone" about why Gojyo hates airports. Do a little deducing, and there is your answer. Kougaiji is talking to one of his myriad business partners. And I use the term 'business' loosely. Bwa hahahaha...  
  
SwitchVale: Soon all shall become clear *puts on Miss Cleo mask* Cleo can see de futcha fo' ya an' is gon' be a bumpy ride! (Wow, Karot needs to stop eating candy canes in the middle of the afternoon...) 


	4. Eve

A/N: To make up for the last, terribly short chapter, this one is three pages. Just about, anyway ^.^ This marks a turning point in the fic, where the focus will shift from Doku, Yaone, and Lirin to more of what's going on with Kougaiji and...dare I say it...Homura. No conclusion-jumping yet, folks ^.^   
  
Welcome to Christmas...probably three weeks to a month after the last chapter. Because, really, everything ran along the lines of the daily grind. Notes to reviewers at the end of the chapter ^.^  
  
***  
  
"I can't believe you've actually got to work on Christmas Eve."  
  
"I'm agnostic." She elbowed past him, bending smoothly at the waist to deliver a Manhattan between two men at a poker table. "The people with religious problems get off, but that means the rest of us have to be here."  
  
Dokugakuji shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. "Amazing how many people come on Christmas fuckin' Eve."  
  
She shrugged, straightening her skirt. "These aren't really your family types that come here." She glanced down at her watch. "But it's close enough to shift's ending anyway. Can't believe you're still awake."  
  
Doku grinned. "I had the morning to sleep in. I should be good for at least a few more hours."  
  
"Glad to hear it," she responded, and walked away. She wore black boots that not only accentuated the pale expanse of thigh just above them but gave her a nice little wobble when she walked. Doku liked to watch Reno walk in her work clothes. Most of the patrons did. Doku leaned against the wall adjacent to the bar and waited for Reno to return in her street clothes. He'd come to pick her up because she didn't have a family with which to spend Christmas. At least, not one that cared. Though she swore she was not religious, Doku couldn't help but want to give her some semblance of a feeling of home on this night. She was wonderful to him, and he wanted to return it. So he waited, watching the smoke curl around various tables and drunken men slamming down shot after lonely shot at the bar. Though it was warm, he huddled his jacket closer about himself.  
  
Reno returned, and she was talking with another man. This man was strikingly handsome, and for a moment Doku felt a twinge of jealousy that comes naturally to any man seeing a potential "threat." She really seemed to be enjoying herself, laughing as he frowned slightly and blew smoke from his cigarette in lazy circles. He could hear parts of their conversation as they got closer, amplified by the laughter in Reno's voice.  
  
"So you going home alone, Gojyo?" His name was Gojyo. Doku frowned. That name was unique enough to be familiar, but it was the only familiar thing about this man. His red hair was tied loosely into a tail and his voice was deep and melodic.  
  
"Going home alone, but not to an empty home." He finally noticed Dokugakuji. "Seems you're not going home at all, eh?"  
  
Reno grinned and planted a possessive kiss on Doku's cheek. Gojyo winced slightly, but only slightly. "Of course I'm going home. He's coming with. I just asked 'cause Dallas is going to be in town starting tomorrow." This time, the pained look lasted longer, caught the redhead's eyes so they soured. "Miss him at all?" Reno asked, the simpering almost completely out of her tone. Almost.  
  
"Not so much as I miss you," Gojyo retorted, winking a little. "Be nice to him. I'm going home to -my- baby. Merry Christmas."  
  
"Close the door so you don't scare Santa," Reno called after his retreating form. And the redhead threw his head back to laugh. Doku stared at him, stymied. He knew that movement, as if the only way the laughter could come was when his ponytail dangled toward the floor. Someone else had been that way. Perhaps he'd seen them on the television or on the bus. Before he could think further on it, Reno grabbed his collar and pulled him down to her level.  
  
"For us, I'm -locking- the door."  
  
*  
  
"I'm sick of waiting up!" Lirin whined, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a pillow in her lap. The meager Christmas tree they'd bought stood three feet tall in its stand, laden with more family ornaments than was really safe. Yaone had insisted they put them all on the straining boughs. Each one had a story, according to Yaone. A story of her family, of Doku's, of Lirin's. And even a few about Kougaiji. She'd smiled at each ornament and remembered while she put them on the tree.  
  
Yaone smiled softly at her as she did those ornaments. "Well, you could always go to bed and see them in the morning. Doku is bringing Reno over around nine to open presents tomorrow."  
  
Lirin glared at the tree. "And -Kougaiji-?"  
  
Yaone frowned. Lirin hardly ever called her half-brother by his name unless she was really upset. The affectionate girl had always held tight to her bond with Kougaiji, relying upon physical evidence of love. And that included but was not at all limited to his participation in holidays, religious or not. Christmas, to her, was a family time. And, for Lirin, Kougaiji was the only family that she really cared about.  
  
It hurt, then, to watch as he slowly receded into the distance. Out of arms' reach, no longer returning easy smiles or friendly teasing. Yaone knew Lirin missed constant contact with the amicable person she knew. Yaone missed him, too. When Doku began disappearing more often, Yaone took to staying awake waiting for them. They never left together, but always returned at the same time. Like they supposed the girls wouldn't be worried and unable to sleep. She missed them both, and though she loved Lirin dearly, evenings were intensely lonely without four bodies in the house. She worried as any good friend should worry, knowing they were big enough to take care of themselves but not trusting them enough to do so. Not trusting fate enough to love them as she did. Yaone turned to Lirin, who felt frustration and hot anger because she could not bring herself to be sick with worry. "He promised..."  
  
The door swung open, and wind blew swirls of stinging snow into the entryway. The door slammed against the wind, and dark, cold hands locked the knob and chain. He smelled of pipe tobacco and red wine. And, under that, cologne and cheap booze. He pulled his cap from his head and the sweaty mass of red hair stood out from his scalp. Silently, he pulled off his coat, brushed snow from the shoulders, and hung it on its peg. His boots came after, standing in their own growing puddles beneath the wet cloth. He ran his hands through his hair, rubbed at his mouth, and padded softly into the living room. He smiled softly at the tree.  
  
"I promised."  
  
*  
  
"Doorbell!" Lirin cried, getting up from the table to go answer it.  
  
Kougaiji lifted an eyebrow. "He's got a key."  
  
Yaone shrugged, smiling. "Maybe he forgot it."  
  
Morning had been serene enough. Lirin had grown far too old to wake up at dawn for present opening, but she still came pretty close. One year, Doku not-so-lovingly dubbed his wake-up as "a tornado at the crack 'a early." She'd taken a shower first, and sang carols at the top of her lungs to give Yaone and Kougaiji ample time to steel themselves for her onslaught as soon as she was clean. However, neither got up because that would have robbed Lirin of the chance to do it for them. Once they'd all gotten up and dressed, Yaone had set to making eggs and bacon and pancakes in the shape of stars. Yaone didn't use a mold for it; she didn't need to.  
  
Lirin ushered Dokugakuji and Reno into the kitchen with a grin. Both looked half-asleep and mildly scruffy, but such was the look of folks in the morning. Reno immediately set to helping Yaone in any way she could, and Doku took a seat by Kougaiji, to dodge any questions Lirin might decide to fire their way. It had most definitely been a white Christmas, as Reno opened a window to brush a good six inches of powder from the sill.  
  
"How'd it go?" Doku asked softly of Kougaiji. The redhead speared a piece of bacon and shoved it into Doku's mouth.  
  
"Not now." He turned his attention to Lirin, who was talking with Yaone and Reno as she ate. Yaone passed Reno a plate of eggs and, when she inquired about ketchup, Lirin made a face. The two elders laughed and Yaone pointed her toward the refrigerator. He was getting used to Reno; they all were. For Doku's sake, they were accommodating her. Kougaiji couldn't say he liked her, but the only people he really did care for were the others in the room. And his mother. He winced a bit, promising himself he'd go to see her at the first moment he had free. Maybe Yaone could come with him.  
  
Yaone would come with him, if he asked. She'd wait outside in the cold hospital hallway and stare out the window into the snow-covered parking lot while he sat with his mother and spoke to her. Yaone would wait for him but never go in with him. She'd stand there the entire time. He felt the warmth in the depths of his chest, but hadn't ever let it show. He wasn't about to start. But Yaone would come with him to see his mother. And Doku would come with him that night, if he asked. They'd go play Blackjack again, maybe. It was how he'd met Reno in the first place.  
  
"Presents!" Lirin cried as soon as Reno's plate was empty. Doku smiled at her and got up, cuffing her shoulder.  
  
"Yes, master. Aren't you a little old for Santa?"  
  
"Santa, yes. Presents, never." Lirin grinned and nearly shoved everyone into the living room. They gathered around the pathetic little tree, with Yaone in her own chair, Kougaiji opposite her, and Doku and Reno sharing the couch. Lirin passed out the first round of gifts and they commenced to turn the room into a mess of wrapping paper.  
  
Yaone, at one point, looked around her with a distressed face. Doku caught it and smiled reassuringly. "I promise we'll all help with clean-up," he called over Lirin's excited thanking of him for a CD she'd been unable to find. Lirin grinned and nodded her agreement, returning to the tree to find one last little box.  
  
"It's for Yaone-chan! Here, open it!" Lirin urged, thrusting the package into Yaone's lap. It seemed she enjoyed watching others open their presents almost more than tearing into her own. It was always wonderful to take away the outside and find treasures hiding within. To frustrate her, Yaone took her time.  
  
"It's from Kougaiji," she said, gently undoing the tape from the corners first, then unfolding the careful creases. Lirin fidgeted until it appeared she was going to explode, and only then did Yaone just tear the green paper away. It was a small box upholstered in black velour, so that Yaone's heart raced with the realization of what might be inside.  
  
The ring was a simple gold band with no jewel but a contrasting stripe of white gold thin as a hair through the middle. She stared at it in pleasant shock until Lirin squealed. Yaone pulled the ring from its box and her jaw dropped further as she read the word engraved on the inside of the band. Before anybody else could see it, however, she slipped it onto her finger.  
  
"It fits. Thank you, Kougaiji. It's beautiful." The man unaccustomed to giving gifts smiled a little and nodded. The woman unaccustomed to receiving stared at the band around her finger. It wasn't as if she'd been the only one to get a ring. Lirin had received a silver band with a small but handsome emerald to match her eyes. But there had been no words upon it, no words from her brother's mouth.  
  
*  
  
Kougaiji had bought a ring for his mother's finger. He delivered it to her while Yaone waited outside. When he emerged, he slipped his hand into Yaone's while they walked to her car.  
  
It was the last she would touch him for months.  
  
***  
  
Notes:  
  
Keistje: The Kougaiji-tachi don't get much air-time, and that's why they're so infernally hard to write! I'm having a tough time characterizing them - please tell me if I do something wrong. Lirin's easy; she's pretty close to Goku...I just give her a bit more woman's common sense. ^.-  
  
UltraM: Hee, yes, Chiclets! (That, by the way, is one of my favorite scenes of that movie...that and when Mr. Wilson accidentally uses paint for barbecue sauce...man is my sense of humor skewed) Kou isn't so much being led as rushing head-on into things. Just so you know, the guy from the first chapter and the guy who took Kougaiji to dinner are two separate people. Just in case you thought I was keeping this simple ^.-  
  
Merf: Hee, you're so smart. And that's why I had fun writing the first portion of this chapter. Bwahaha. The finding-out-about-Kougaiji will come next chapter, I promise. I'm sick of stalling myself ^.^ 


	5. Bedtime

A/N: Hello, hi, I haven't died. I swear.  
  
I had a writer's block. Huge, insurmountable, painful writer's block. It took a while to work through. I hope this isn't crappy. -.- It is, however, a bit shorter than my chapters for Blackjack have recently been. I apologize for that, but I'm about to -really- get into the action so I guess I'm just sort of gearing up. Yeah.  
  
Notes to reviewers at the end of the chapter  
  
...  
  
"Allo, Reno's boy. You treating her well?" Cards danced between his fingers, frigid from constant air conditioning. It was how he could manage to keep his starched, white sleeves buttoned at the wrists. The cards snapped into line and the speaker dealt.  
  
The man that had just taken his seat at the table steamed with the remnants of July's oppressive heat. Sweat beaded on his brow and upper lip; dark patches deepened the blue of his shirt under his arms. A cigarette dangled from his lips. The dealer looked at it hungrily. "Of course. Geoff, wasn't it?"  
  
"Close to." The dealer grinned and spared a moment to swipe a few red strands of hair behind his ears. His tail was coming loose with his movements, but he'd been chided once for retying it while on the job. He settled into being ignored.  
  
"We the first?" Doku asked, exhaling smoke and glancing over to the man at his left hand.  
  
"It's impolite to be late," his companion responded, fingering four white lines on his cheek. "Impoliteness is never handled well. Hit me," he murmured to the dealer. A corner of his dark mouth quirked upwards. "Twenty-two. Damn."  
  
Three men took their seats to his left. Doku was not spared a glance. The dealer swiped all the cards into his hand and began dealing a new game. "Fifty-two card deck, boys. Dealer stands on seventeen, push to the house..."

...

"There's been a bit of a problem." The man had an air of wrongness about his face, in minutest details that lent to a strange disproportionality of his features. There was nothing particularly sinister about neither pieces nor whole, but the moment his eyes landed upon a person the gut clenched and instinct called desperately for a getaway. His smile, easy and wide, was crooked, cutting jagged lines through his face. Three of his teeth were golden. His manner was genteel, polished, perfect. He played conservatively unless he had a chance for a double. "Some of my boys have been recognized. I dislike it."  
  
A grunt. "Tell you what fucks with me. What does it is that we're 'ere of all places. Fuckin' 'ere!" A meaty hand balled into a fist, pounding on the table. The tattoos on his knuckles twitched as his muscles moved beneath his skin. "We're sittin' ducks so close." His breath stank of chewing tobacco and his skin was ripe with the smell of hydrogen peroxide. "Hit me. I mean, we're walkin' a fine line 'ere. We made -news- more'n once. Fuckin' news."  
  
"The people, ah, have a right to know, I suppose," the third wheedled. He coiled, serpentine, over the edge of the table. His hand shot out to pitch a few more chips toward the dealer. The same hand ran through his hair and disappeared somewhere under the table.  
  
The second ostentatiously began picking his teeth with a pocketknife. The dealer raised an eyebrow. "Sir, I'll have to ask that you not display that in here." In response, the pocketknife snapped closed with an easy finality that said 'Shut up, fucker, or this is your neck.' The dealer appeared to take no notice.  
  
"It does reflect badly upon us," the first said with a light laugh. "But to the business at hand. I, and I'm assuming I speak for the three of us, am beginning to wonder why we're working with you in the first place, Kougaiji. God knows I like you. But that's not enough anymore."  
  
Kougaiji sat up straighter, the movement almost imperceptible if not for the set of his shoulders. "You may leave if you wish, gentlemen. However, let me remind you of what you will be losing. The chance for, perhaps, a happy reunion. The chance for vengeance. The chance to say 'I've done this.' I managed to convince you once, and I only ask now for your patience in the matter."  
  
"I fink you're a crazy bastard." The second leaned back, resting his arm on the back of his chair. "Fuckin' crazy. Could be crazy-brilliant, I dunno yet. I ain't patient like that."  
  
Kougaiji glanced sideways at him. In soft, suicidal tones, he asked, "How many people would you kill to get your brother out? I've been hearing what they're saying about you, sir. Your boys are missing him, but half's nowhere near as good as the whole unit." Kougaiji bowed his head as Doku launched himself in the way of the enraged oncoming attack. Doku had to wrestle the man back into his seat. The dealer let it go on, watching half-amused. "Don't you want him out? Otherwise, I hear he's still got...that's right, seven hundred-some years." Kougaiji raised his eyebrow as if his life had not just been saved by the man on his right. As if he wasn't walking a tightrope he'd been on for nearly six years. "He should be argument enough. I shouldn't have to bring up your cousin, the seventeen men, the three women. And that's only you."  
  
The first grinned. "That's why I like you, Kougaiji. Crazy-brilliant indeed. However, you are brash. What do you propose we do about our recent bouts of...publicity?"  
  
Kougaiji, suddenly comfortable, shrugged one shoulder. "Tell your boys to be more careful. If they are seen it is no fault of mine."  
  
The third spun his last chip on his finger. "Hit me." One, ah, last question. When?"  
  
Kougaiji cocked an eye toward the dealer. The redhead stared down at the cards, shuffling and re-shuffling the deck. Without a word, Kougaiji turned back to the man that had asked. "When does it fit your schedule?"

...

"Yaone-nee-chan?"  
  
Yaone smiled softly. "You haven't called me that in years." She opened her eyes and glanced to Lirin. The redhead perched on the windowsill, knees drawn to her chest, reveling in the cool of the night. The lights were out to save power, as were any appliances not deemed necessary. This meant only the plumbing worked. Yaone was sprawled over the couch, dressed in only an overlarge t-shirt and underwear. She, unlike Lirin, did not have easy access to the outdoor breeze, but made do with exposing as much of herself to convection as she was comfortable. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to her housemate, silhouetted as she was by streetlights and a few errant cars.   
  
"Tell me how you met him again," she asked without turning around.  
  
Yaone frowned a bit. The only time Lirin had asked for the story was after a fight that had left both her and her half-brother utterly frustrated and exhausted. It was a story to reassure her of all that was good in Kougaiji. For her to ask, she must have been quite desperate for this. Yaone sighed, twisting the ring around her finger and letting her thumbnail trace around the groove in it. Kougaiji was rarely home, never during the day. He left before Yaone had even risen in the morning, and she couldn't even pump Dokugakuji for answers as to his whereabouts. She was concerned, as was Lirin. They hadn't spoken since Christmas day. This story, Yaone decided, would be good for the both of them. She pulled herself into the storyteller's position, her legs folded and her arms crossed in her lap.  
  
"I was not a popular girl," she began. "I liked learning things. I liked reading. I thought games such as 'house' or 'tag' were a waste of time and energy. Mostly, the only people who talked to me wanted help with their mathematics. That was fine with me.  
  
"I suppose I was overly analytical because of it. As I spent more and more time in the chemistry laboratories, writing papers and mixing chemicals, my body was changing. The boys that hadn't spared a glance to me before were staring. I ignored them, recognizing the changes as a simple part of life and hoping that, as the other girls caught up, I would again be ignored. I preferred to avoid confrontations at all costs.  
  
"I have learned that boys, especially hormonal, little boys, seek confrontations out. In the manner of all males, one of them claimed me. I refused him multiple times, each time clearly expressing my dissent and walking away. I was never frightened of him, but merely annoyed. However, even as the other girls caught up, he continued to pursue me.  
  
"I had stayed late at the library one night, researching for my history final, I believe. It was a warm night out so I thought little of walking the few blocks to my home. However, few streetlights lined the most direct route. Simply put, I was followed. Simply put, he found his confrontation. I had never before been frightened of any man, but I realized real danger and felt real fear. And then, the world went white with headlights and a police siren screamed through the air.  
  
"I wonder, if my savior had been someone more impressive than a boy with a Belvedere and a megaphone, if I would have become so enamored with him. His bravery impressed me, and his charisma as well because the next day he spoke to me not as a child, but as a friend. We remained as such through high school, and he sold the Belvedere to help pay for this very house. He worked days, I went to college, I worked nights. Soon, we took on a roommate, a friend of his from the moving company where he worked. When the business dissolved, the friendship remained. I was forced to leave college due to financial reasons, but I don't mind it so much. Especially because keeping house is nearly a full-time job anyway. A few years after our respectable little system was put into effect, this noisy little girl who had run away from her parents knocked on the door." Yaone grinned a bit. "And that's when housekeeping -really- became tough."  
  
Lirin frowned for a moment, then grabbed the nearest pillow and pitched it at Yaone's head.  
  
...  
  
Notes:  
  
Keistje: No, I'm not going to tell you. Know why? I haven't decided! Bwahaha. There's one of three phrases it could be. You'll learn later. Woo.  
  
UltraM: giggle why, thank you. My sense of humor has gotten me through many a scrape...and gotten a few of them upon my person as well. I am such a sucker for Kou/Yaone fluff 'cause it really isn't canon but it's so sweet anyway.  
  
Merf: Deducing skills shall come in handy - I dropped quite a few hints about what they're going to do.   
  
Iapetus: squee! your review made me happy...I'm so addicted to SiB it's not even funny. So...who's your -favorite- Saiyuki character? Hee, just curious. I'm glad you think I'm keeping everybody IC...the Kougaiji-tachi are the characters I'm most-least familiar with (in that I've seen, oh, sixteen episodes of Saiyuki. No kidding. Not even Homura. I'm running on fanfic portrayals alone here -.-) so please keep me in line if I stray. is in over her head on this one And finally, yes, I was definitely hinting at Kou/Yaone. It's not gonna be a happy one, but there's gonna be Kou/Yaone. Kou/Homura? Rowr! rubs chin Not in this little ficcie, but that's definitely something to think about. Hee.   
  
And finally, thank you to everybody who reviewed "Haircut" and "Not Myself" ... those little crapulets were me trying to get through my block. And they helped. The reviews helped too .


	6. Morning

A/N: Hello. I'm here. Welcome, welcome. This chapter's kinda odd, really. But I like it.  
  
Yes, the second scene is Homura. You were wondering what happened to him? Ta-da. Anticlimactic, yes, but otherwise he wouldn't fit. I didn't see himself voluntarily getting involved in this any other way, the way I've had him characterized thus far.   
  
Question: I've been using some rough language. Should I up the rating to R? Notes to reviewers at the end...

...  
Go read "Meetings." I could have made it another chapter of Blackjack, but hey it's already a story. This takes place a few days afterward. If you haven't noticed, I jumped six months between the last two chapters as well. Eh heh.  
...

Gojyo shoved his hands into his pants pockets. He hated churches for their pristine appearances. Their presumptuousness. Like this building could -contain- God. Like He would prefer this place over the fields of His creation. He checked his watch. Three-thirty.  
  
As if on some hidden signal, the doors burst open and people filed out, smiling and talking, shaking hands like the good little Samaritans they were. Gojyo walked against the throng, feeling much as he had the first time he'd walked into a Ladies' restroom by mistake. Only with much higher stakes. He found him in the back pew.  
  
"Told you I'd find it," he said softly in greeting, waving at Goku. The brunette raised both his eyebrows.  
  
"What are -you- doing here?" he exclaimed. Gojyo truly looked out of place among the departing worshippers, in a t-shirt and ripped jeans. How blasphemous, to bare one's knees in the house of God.  
  
"Free country, right? Nevermind all of that about separation of church and state," Gojyo added with a wink. Then he sighed heavy. "I gotta talk to you and Blondie."  
  
Goku frowned at him, reaching up to straighten his tie. It was a hideous thing, checkered with olive green and traffic-cone orange. "Don't call him that. In here, he's important."  
  
"Only in here?" Gojyo grinned, slipping back into his humor. "Can you tell me where to find him?"  
  
Goku shrugged. "I just wait here for him. I don't know if he goes back to clean up or if he's out shaking hands or what."  
  
Gojyo took a seat next to him. "I'll wait then." He stared up at the pulpit, eyes tracing the line of the stained-glass windows behind it. He chuckled a bit. "I suppose I can't see him swiping donuts from the refreshment table out front."  
  
Goku's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "They have one of those?" His stomach announced its joy at the serendipity.  
  
Gojyo nodded sagely, leaning on his knees. "Why, yes. Didn't Sanzo tell you?"  
  
A dry voice interjected, "I meant to have him stay put." Sanzo, already in plainclothes, held his robes in a laundry bag folded over his arm. A battered gold cross hung against his breast. Except for that, he looked absolutely nothing like a holy man.  
  
"Can I go get something? I'm hungry." Goku turned baleful, puppy-dog eyes on Sanzo. The blonde relented, waving him off. And then he turned his attention to Gojyo.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
Gojyo patted the seat beside him. "Do I call you Father? No, that's Catholics. Reverend? Master?"  
  
"That last one'll do," Sanzo remarked, a corner of his mouth quirking oh-so-minutely upward. He took a seat next to Gojyo, laying the laundry bag on the pew by his side. He pulled one knee up to his chest and bent down to tie the laces on his boots. As his fingers worked, he murmured, "You're not one for heavy religion."  
  
Gojyo laughed. "So I'm not. Wait until the cop comes back. I think I may have some things to talk to you two about." Sanzo shrugged, not deciding to beat it out of Gojyo. He pulled his other leg up and set to tying the right boot. Gojyo watched him. As always, the kid looked good. Man now. Old enough to drink. Old enough to -really- get into some trouble. Gojyo smiled inwardly. Though he had come to regard Hakkai as a man, Sanzo was much harder to get his head around. He looked as he always had, handsome or not, whereas Hakkai and even Goku had changed. If not physically, in manner. Gojyo amended that statement. Sanzo had changed as well. His fuse, at least with Goku, seemed a lot longer than it had been before. He hadn't seen any bruises on the cop.  
  
Said brunette returned with a donut in his mouth and a cup of coffee to offer to Sanzo. The blonde took it, but did not drink. "'S black," Goku muttered around his mouthful. Sanzo shot him a glare and he swallowed, repeating the sentence in a more polite manner. Only then was the statement accepted. Sanzo took a sip and turned to Gojyo.  
  
"Alright. Tell us."  
  
Gojyo sighed. Goku, leaning at him over the pew in front, stared into his face. Gojyo ran his hand through his hair and began, "Goku, remember when we saw each other a few weeks ago? And I found out you were a cop? I should have told you then...but Tongpu was there. I dunno, I just didn't want to let it out in front of him. Goku, there's something weird going on. And Sanzo, you gotta hear it 'cause I think it involves a friend of yours or something.  
  
"There's these two guys who come to my table at the casino at least once a week. Just my table - one of 'em has a crush on me, I swear. He won't stop looking at me funny. They're Blackjack addicts or something, but whenever they come it's in a group of five or six but everybody else with 'em is different. And they -all- know each other. They've been talking about stuff that doesn't sound half legal." Gojyo paused to laugh. "Can't believe I'm ratting out to a cop. It feels weird, you know? But you get an ear for these things. They're terrible at covering up, and they're stupid for always sitting near me." He rubbed his forehead.  
  
"So anyway sometimes it'll be all normal conversations. They'll ask how's-the-family or talk about the weather. But I recognized this one name. One of the two guys said 'Lirin.'" Gojyo waited for Goku's expression to fade. He was not nearly as good at hiding his emotions as Sanzo, and let his shock show.  
  
"You think Lirin's doing something illegal? She wouldn't! She's too nice. Tell him, Sanzo!" Goku cried, pointing an incriminating finger at Gojyo.  
  
Sanzo gave a derisive snort. "You're not a very good policeman, then, if you're so convinced she's incapable." He patted his pockets. "I need a smoke and I don't want you to continue talking about -this-" he pointed over his head, "in here." Gojyo nodded and followed him outside, Goku noisily in tow.  
  
Once in the heat, Goku immediately shed his suit jacket, untucked his shirt, loosened his tie, and rolled his sleeves up to the elbows. And yet he fanned himself. Sanzo lit up, using a lighter quite familiar to Gojyo. He grinned at it. The redhead, however, didn't pop a cigarette between his own lips.  
  
"It's not Lirin. At least, from what I hear, I don't think she's involved. But the two guys, they definitely are. One of them is redheaded, has blue eyes. Talks real quiet. They call him 'Kou.'"  
  
"Kougaiji," Sanzo murmured, remembering the single time he'd been over to Lirin's house. He'd been bent over a letter that left him excited, and entered a family moment that left Sanzo even further on the outside. There had been others, there, too. A woman, and...  
  
"The other's silent, though. The muscle. The one that won't stop looking at me all night. Dark hair, dark eyes. I haven't even heard his name." Gojyo shrugged.  
  
"It's got too many frickin' syllables, that's why." Sanzo closed his eyes. "Doku...gakuji. I've met those two. Once, only once. As Goku would say, they didn't seem the type." He shot a glance over to Goku, who frowned and made a threatening gesture toward Sanzo's cigarette. The blonde shrugged and stamped it out under his foot.  
  
Gojyo smiled at the give-and-take. "Well I thought you knew them, so I figured if I was gonna say it you should hear it from me and not the saru over there." He grinned at Goku. "Thing is, I keep hearing their conversations every time and I've been putting two and two together to get seven. Funny math. Those guys aren't the best of company for your friends. I, uh. I know one of them. This is my story, don't interrupt with questions about how. Not good guys. And one time one of them got drunk and started speaking...should I say candidly? He said things about breaking -into- prisons and reunions with people and revenge on the system. They -always- talk about reunions. And periods of time. Sounds like prison sentences to me. But I really don't know. Goku, you're going to swallow bugs like that."  
  
Goku was staring open-mouthed at Gojyo. "No, no. Oh, God. Gojyo...Gojyo, I've got to get you to say all of that to...to at least Tongpu. Oh, God." He grabbed Gojyo's wrist. "Please. You gotta come with me. You're right, Gojyo, this is pretty big. No, this is -really- big. Crazy ginormous big!"  
  
Sanzo cleared his throat. "Breathe, Goku."  
  
Gojyo pulled his arm away. "What kind of witness protection could you possibly give me without giving me away? Doku...Doku whatever his name is...he's fuckin' dating my ex-girlfriend. You possibly think if he finds out he might come to my apartment? Huh? I'm probably killing myself...or, God, Hakkai...just telling you! Guys like that have a way of finding things out. They know my face. One of 'em knows -more- than my Goddamn' face!" Gojyo realized he was shouting, and clamped his teeth down on his lower lip. "How do you know Hakkai'll stay safe?" he hissed through his teeth.  
  
Sanzo cocked his head to the side. "You sound irrational. Then again, you're better acquainted with those people. Goku, how can you be sure they'll listen to him? Is this something you specifically should be working on?"  
  
Goku deflated. "No." He slumped against a tree, staring at his shoes. "I'm just a patrol car passenger. But at least can you tell Tongpu?" His eyes pleaded with Gojyo, wide and overwhelmed. "Please."  
  
Gojyo sighed and grabbed his own pack of cigarettes, lighting up and swiping his hair behind his ear. "You know I can't survive that look." And Goku broke into a gigantic grin.

...  
  
Cold, so cold. He wrapped one arm over his shoulders, leaning his chin into the crook of his elbow. The corner of his mouth was bleeding and his tongue worried at the wound. Under the fluorescent lighting, his skin was tinged with green. Only the buzz of electricity broke the monotony of his breathing.  
  
There was commotion outside, he knew. He did not have a window to the outside, not even a panel in his door. But he knew things were moving the way they oughtn't. He wondered idly if they might involve him.  
  
The walls were light gray, the color of concrete to match the floor. To match the ceiling. He sat in his faded orange suit, licking the blood from his mouth. Bare feet perched on the metal edge of the cot, propping his knees to his chest. Apathetic, lethargic, he rubbed at the back of his neck with two slow fingers.   
  
They were outside his door. There was no doorknob or keyhole to look through. No cracks at the hinges to let sound in. But he knew they were outside. Blue eye, gold eye, both eyes focused on the solid door. _Openopenopenopenopenopenopen..._  
  
Six inches above the barrier of his ceiling, his future might have played differently. Six inches above the barrier of his ceiling, the other cells were being opened. The safe cells. The stampede of feet shook the walls.  
  
_Openopenopenopenopenopenopen..._ Down here in the green-orange fluorescent world rank with only the scent of himself, he sat and probed at the crack in his lip. He used his teeth to make a new one on the other side, just to pass the time. He wanted to be home in his robe in his element with his comforts and the sight of the sky outside. The noises of cars going by and neighbors' voices. His skin itched under the orange. They were outside his door. Outside his door. He couldn't hear them, but he knew they were there. It felt wrong enough around him that things had to have changed. He wondered if they would remember to slide food in twice a day. He wondered how his name sounded in other peoples' mouths. He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, feeling vibrations but unable to see past the gray.  
  
And then he heard the sirens. They wailed against his ears, vibrating against the concrete, bouncing back again and again. He crouched into his arms, pressing his forehead against his knees. The lights flickered off, but the sirens wailed on.

...  
  
"Down there?"  
  
"Isolation? You kidding me? Crazy fucks down there, the lot of 'em."  
  
"Right then. Let's get out of this place. Prisons creep me the hell out."  
  
"Crazy fucks. Gotta draw the line somewhere."  
  
"Leave them."

...  
  
Notes: Either I'm getting boring or I've been taking too long to update. Either way, I apologize and I'll try not to do it again .  
  
UltraM: Thanks for reassuring me...I didn't plan this out very well, if you haven't noticed. I'm doin' it the best I can.


	7. Monday

A/N: Hello, I'm here! I got a free moment and this idea last night...after a very strange dream ruminating on it, I managed to write this. Yes, it's short, but my life is being drained by school at the moment. I hate May and early June -.-  
  
Dimitry, who makes quite the appearance here, is a character of mine, just as Isaac Paul was in Eights and Aces. I love Dimitry to bits, and I got to make him evil here. Which suits him well n.n I had a good time with that one. Warning for language, violence, and lots of references to Gojyo's E&A past. Notes to reviewers at the end.  
  
-If you don't need me, I think I'll go. If you don't want me, tell me no-  
  
...  
  
It was a room like any other bedroom, generic and white-walled. The floor was littered with various articles of clothing, some dirty, some wearable, all wrinkled. The blinds were slammed shut against the daylight. An alarm clock rested on the bedside table. That, however, was where the similarities to normalcy screeched to a halt.  
  
He yawned languidly, stretching his arms over his head to press his palms flat against the wall. He accidentally knocked a pack of cigarettes off of the table by his head. Cold, plastic eyes pressed into his back where he lay, and when he rolled over, another set of faces was there to meet him. Long, pale, lanky arms wrapped around a stuffed rabbit and clutched it to a thin, sallow chest. Absently, he took one ear between his teeth.  
  
A few moments later, he thrust himself into an upright position. The stuffed animals under him bounced a bit, then settled into silence. Running a hand through his hair, he stood and scratched open-palmed at his bare sides. Glasses were shoved onto his face. A worn, white robe hung on the doorknob, and he slid into it but ignored the slippers, padding barefooted down the claustrophobic stairway. He knew there was coffee in the kitchen.  
  
He'd made it the morning before, preferring to just make a batch for the week and microwave it as necessary. Sure, the taste changed a bit day after day, but a surprise was nice sometimes. It hadn't hurt him to date. Outside, the sun was already far overhead, so he shoved his coffee in the microwave and set about making a sandwich. Leftover takeout between bread, the breakfast of champions.  
  
And then, Nii Jenyi plodded over to the door to check for mail.  
  
He flicked disinterestedly through the various bills and solicitations, when a handwritten envelope caught his eye. An unfamiliar name graced the return address, but then again the letter wasn't meant for him in the first place. He shrugged and dropped the pile of paper on the counter, returning to his coffee. Nii had no moral dilemmas about opening his neighbor's mail. He just wanted to do it on his own time.  
  
He was on his second cup and done with his sandwich when he raked a fingernail through the envelope. There was no salutatory first line; the letter dropped immediately into text. "What have we here, now?" he drawled, merely because it felt like a good thing to say at that moment.  
  
Somebody was dropping money into Kougaiji's open palms. Nii wondered not who she was, nor why. He only wondered how perhaps, in some way, he might snag a piece of the pie. As a subtext, he also wondered where the hell he'd left his stamps.  
  
...  
  
Gojyo opened his eyes and grinned. Hakkai was already gone, had left hours ago with papers and pens and patience. He'd left Gojyo to deal with the unmade sofa bed and quite a nest of sex-hair. But that was just fine by the redhead.  
  
Mondays, he reflected, could _definitely_ be worse.   
  
He swung his legs out into the air and sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes and adjusting to a vertical position. His tangled locks clung to his neck and wound around his ears, greasy and hot. Gojyo shook out his shoulders and staggered into the bathroom for a good, warm shower.  
  
There are those who sing in the bathroom for its fantastic acoustics. There are others who sing in there merely because it is a moment of private time they can't get anywhere else. Gojyo was neither of these people. Gojyo sang like he danced. He hummed softly to himself just so he'd stay focused. It was never a good thing to realize he'd dozed off in the steam only to be awakened by a blast of cold water signifying the emptiness of the water heater downstairs. It was a little, disjointed tune, a mash of random songs he'd heard over the years, often indistinguishable.   
  
When he stepped again onto the tile, he realized the phone was ringing. He let the machine get it, but jumped when he heard Goku calling to him.  
  
"You there? Gojyo, pick up!" Gojyo frowned and wrapped the towel about himself, grabbing the phone.  
  
"What do you want?" he asked, sounding harsher than he'd meant.  
  
Goku's voice brightened. "Gojyo! You're working tonight, right? I just wanted to make sure."  
  
"Yeah, I am. Hey, what's this about?" Gojyo wiggled his little finger in his other ear and wiped his hand on the towel. "I work every day but Sunday."  
  
"How often do they come in? Don't play dumb, you know -them-."  
  
Gojyo shrugged out of habit. Goku's tone was firm and adult all of a sudden, and he disliked it. "Few nights a month. Four or five at most."  
  
"When they do, could you, uh, call me and tell me what they say?"  
  
Gojyo paused a moment, a small smile beginning to form on his features. "You know how wrong that is? Invasion of privacy? Kid, what if someone bugs the phones?"  
  
"You watch too many spy movies. And the other bit...well, you're a protected witness. If there really is something going on, I'll maybe find some way to keep you safe. Okay?"  
  
Gojyo sighed and slicked his wet hair back with his free hand. "Fine, just so you stop bugging me. I guess I wouldn't have said anything in the first place if it wasn't bothering me."  
  
"Thanks, Gojyo! I promise you'll be fine."  
  
"Don't make stupid promises," Gojyo responded. "What number do I call?" Gojyo grabbed a pen and, a few slightly damp seconds later, had scribbled the number on a pad of paper by the phone. The ink was slightly blurred but still legible.   
  
When Gojyo was dressed, he meandered into the kitchen and, feeling too lazy to make coffee, downed a cup of the tea Hakkai had made. It was actually pretty good. A glance at the clock told him he had about an hour to kill. He grabbed his keys, shoved his feet into his boots, and left the bed unmade.  
  
...  
  
Gojyo liked winter in the city. Everything was gray and dark and mud-slush. Your breath hung in front of your face and you could hide in a giant coat and be warm inside and wet without. Summer was different. The sun unlocked the hidden stenches of dumpsters and street litter, turning the air sour near the ground. The only thing that really made summer nice, Gojyo decided, was the amount of clothing the girls wore. He didn't mind showing himself off as well.  
  
A few appraising glances were sent his way when he stopped at a crosswalk. He leered at the drivers, one in particular, who blushed and tried to grin back. Gojyo laughed and walked on. He enjoyed the feeling of being appreciated for his looks without having to be paid for them as well. It was a certain sweet freedom that came from not being dependent on his sexuality, but merely complemented by it.   
  
"Hello, you." The voice came slow and slithering, like the cold hands on his shoulders. "It's been a while, hasn't it? I see you've gotten yourself a nice job now."  
  
Gojyo wrenched away. "Fuck off."  
  
"Oh, come on." The hands replaced themselves and gently but firmly steered Gojyo into a corridor. The redhead felt the frigid flat of a knife being dragged over the back of his neck. "You never talk when you're holding cards. I'd like to catch up with you."  
  
"I'm sure you do," Gojyo snarled, standing stock-still. "Come around front so I can get a good look at you."  
  
The man behind him laughed. "Say please." Gojyo growled and thrust an elbow back, dodging forward as soon as his attacker bent double. The man recovered quickly, however, and caught Gojyo by the hair, yanking his head downward until the knife just barely pressed against his neck. "Did you miss me, too?"  
  
Gojyo glared into ice-blue eyes, wanting to spit but knowing the brunette would have no qualms about slitting his throat then and there. "Not at all," he ground out, wincing as the hand in his hair twisted, threatening to take off a good chunk of his scalp.  
  
"Maybe I'll jog your memory. You sure you don't want to come back to me? You almost said yes once." The knife was taken from his throat but before Gojyo could make any movement he was wrenched to his knees and nearly eating leather, the blade dawdling just below his ear. "Remember? You were desperate and starving." The man ground his crotch against Gojyo's face, grinning toothily. "I offered you a -steady- job. It'd still pay more than the casino does. You're still pretty, kid."  
  
Gojyo growled deep in his throat, one hand snaking down to his boot and grasping for the utility knife he kept on him at all times. The hand yanked upward on his hair and he winced, grunting against the pain.  
  
"Now, now. You're still just a child, aren't you? You'd like it with me. I gave you a bed. And breakfast, as I recall. You could have had that every day."  
  
Gojyo's hand closed around the utility knife and he slowly brought it back up toward his chest. "What you never gave me were the bandages I had to ask the hotel manager for. Or payment for the hospital visit from the infections you left. Or any impression that I'd survive a -week- without the drugs you keep your sluts on."  
  
"Prostitution's not pretty. That's what the whores are for." The knife under Gojyo's ear traced a gentle, cold pattern down under his jaw. "You can't have morals when you're desperate."  
  
"It worked for me," Gojyo snarled, pulling the blade of his own knife out with a click. Ice-blue eyes glanced down, and the toothy grin appeared again.  
  
"Oh, child, look at you," he cooed, stamping a heavy boot down on Gojyo's hand. The redhead gave a muffled cry into the fabric against his mouth as bones ground together between rubber treads and dirty asphalt. Gojyo was going for the lost knife with his other hand when the body above him shuddered.  
  
"Dimitry, let him go."  
  
It was the Muscle, the man that wouldn't stop staring at Gojyo when he dealt to him. While the others talked, this man's eyes were always on him. And he was playing savior. Gojyo felt like punching him.  
  
"If you want your whores free, you don't do anything to piss me off," Doku growled, his meaty hand closing around Dimitry's wrist. The smaller man's knife clattered to the ground, skidding away and out of reach. Doku pried Gojyo out of Dimitry's grasp and gave the brunette a heavy punch to the jaw. "Stupid fuck, you don't -do- those things. Not now. You can have him later, but not fucking now."  
  
Dimitry glanced over at Gojyo. "In a few months, then." And he left, holding his face and spitting blood.  
  
Doku turned to Gojyo, not extending a hand but merely staring at him. "Now how'd you let yourself get caught?" He bent down and picked up the utility knife. "I expect you were going to cut his balls off?"  
  
"You know how much someone bleeds when you do that?" Gojyo responded, getting to his feet and brushing dirt from the knees of his jeans. "Fuck you, I was going to." He turned to walk away, but Doku grabbed his shoulder.  
  
"Hey, don't forget your knife. How's the hand?" he asked, pointing to the one that had been crushed beneath Dimitry's boot.  
  
Gojyo shook it out, wiggling his fingers. "A little numb, but fine. Why the hell do you care?"  
  
Doku grinned. "You're my favorite Blackjack dealer. And Reno would kill me if anything happened to you. I know you don't start your shift for a while. Come and eat with me."  
  
"I'm not hungry." Gojyo had no desire to be anywhere near this man. The muscle had seen him in an extremely embarrassing and vulnerable position. The muscle was fucking his Goddamn' ex. The muscle had most likely saved his life. And now he was smiling all friendly-like at him, like they were old friends. There was something weird about him Gojyo couldn't place. Frankly, he didn't want to. So he was quite surprised when he allowed himself to be led out of the alley and onto the sidewalk beside Doku.  
  
...  
  
Notes:  
  
Keistje: Gojyo and Doku are most definitely brothers. It explains the weird feeling they get around one another. I'm hoping to kinda get more into that as we go along. About Homura - they left him in Iso to die. All the guards were killed so nobody could bring him food, and he can't break out of his cell. Bye, bye, Homura. No more. 'Cause I suck at characterising him ... eh heh.  
  
Krimson: Just ask me about what you don't get and I'll answer any questions you have. I'm not poetic, just lazy -.- Last chapter jumped about six months; we're now in summertime. Basically there was just a bunch of slow-moving gray area between the two, and I wanted to get into the fun bits. Waha.  
  
Silver Moon Rebel: Ee! Hi, welcome back! I haven't seen your reviews since I did Yu Yu Hakusho fiction. It's cool seeing your SN again. I guess there's a ton of spoilery info going on, but if you've got questions feel free to ask me.  
  
Iapetus: About the religious thing - Sanzo's relationship with Goku is sort of a 'fuck you' to the church, 'cause he's not a priest for loving God. (His reasoning I am trying to explain in one-shot format but so far I'm hitting a wall) Basically the only people who know about their relationship are the two of them, though Hakkai and Gojyo have been picking up on hints they're leaving. Oh, and Candy knows of course. They live together, but they don't entertain guests at their house. As far as anybody knows, they live around the same vicinity and are close friends that keep in touch very well. As for Homura, we've already had this conversation on AIM lol I felt I was butchering him, because I couldn't base my interpretation on much more -than- fanon. However, for a persona such as Homura's crammed into a human body, you've got to expect he might go just a little crazy. Plus that, I needed someone to beat up on Gonou and Sanzo back in E&A. Hoo-ray for poetic license. Really. My birthday's on Wednesday, though, so at least I'll have money with which to buy more DVD's. Wa-hoo. As for characterisation, I think I've been lucky so far. And I'm really glad I have you to help me along. Thanks a lot for that. Oh, and I hope you get through your SiB block soon 'cause I'm anxious about that hee you're mean with cliffhangers, you know that? 


	8. Lunch Break

A/N: Hello, I'm not dead! Which is totally obvious...I just hadn't been working on this. And for that I feel really bad. I finally managed to delve back into this wonderful universe and reacquaint myself with the little complexities and feelings it provokes. I realize it is very, very hard to go from present-tense default (see "The Breakroom") back to past-tense writing. Very, very hard. If you notice any discrepancies in tense, it's because I'm not used to this!  
  
Anyway, today is now officially (it's 12:01 AM as I write) my one year anniversary of becoming a fanfiction dot net member! Which, to me, is majorly shibby. I've made it this long, so here's to another year! Notes to reviewers at the end, even though it's been two months. Eh heh.  
  
.  
  
The day was inhumanly, swelteringly hot. Yaone tottered between tables, balancing drinks on her tray and her body on her heels. This act was delicate and skilled, lending to a strength evident in her legs and her arms. She closed her hands around the cold drinks as she served them to customers, and would surreptitiously transfer the cold to her neck in some attempt to gain respite from the heat.  
  
From time to time, she passed Ren on her way in and out of the kitchens. Though he was allowed to roll his sleeves up to his elbows, he was forced into long slacks and his shirt was buttoned to the collar. He mopped the sweat from his brow and gave her an easy grin, dramatically fanning his face. She would laugh and mimic the gesture. Whenever they had a free moment, they would stand under the air conditioning vent by the drink dispenser, reveling in the blast of cold air.  
  
It was on her way to another quick respite that Yaone saw the table waving at her, snapping their fingers for her attention. She came to them with a practiced, bright smile and asked, "Is there anything I can do for you?"  
  
No words escaped them but for the vulgar laughter and a few grunts of appreciation. A hot, meaty hand landed square on the curve of her derriere and bunched the fabric of her skirt under its fingers. Yaone darted away as if burned, but before she could get any words out Ren slid smoothly between her and the table.  
  
"Excuse me, sirs, but Miss Yaone is overdue for her break. However, if there's anything you need to ask of me, I'll be quite willing to help. The name's Higurawa. Now if you gents will excuse me, I have other patrons to attend to." Ren slid his arm through Yaone's and pulled her away before her molestors could gather their wits.  
  
Under the cold blast of the air conditioner, Ren put his face near Yaone's and asked, "Everything okay?" His shoulders were tensed, fists clenched in anger at his sides. But he would back down if Yaone didn't press the matter.  
  
She looked away and twisted the ring on her finger. "That's not the first time it's happened anyway. I can take care of myself."  
  
Ren shrugged, his easy grin a flash of white against tanned skin. "Can't help it if I think you shouldn't have to. At least, not all the time." He gave her a friendly nudge, knuckles to shoulder, and added, "I figure you've walked yourself home all this time without too much trouble, right?"  
  
At that, Ren managed to wrench a smile at of Yaone. Satisfied for the moment, he let her alone and returned to the dining area. Yaone watched him go, shook her head, and turned her face to the ceiling vent for a few precious moments of cool.  
  
.  
  
Gojyo winced at the pain in his hand, unused to not being able to swing his arms as he walked. Returning bloodflow to his fingers meant the natural pendulum movement sent pain shooting from palm to fingertips. Doku noticed the intake of breath and masked his question with a statement. "You're sure you're all right."  
  
Gojyo nodded, half-shrugging. "Been through worse." He looked about him in a habit he thought he'd shed a while back. Out of necessity, shaken from his confidence by a single encounter, his eyes raked the people around him, never lighting on one face for more than an instant. His look was not aggressive, forced to be so. He fought the urge to dart like a frightened, trapped animal, and instead walked in Dokugakuji's massive shadow. The muscle kept himself between Gojyo and the open street. It was a protective stance he'd adopted with Kougaiji, and this possessiveness felt natural.  
  
Gojyo stopped when Doku's arm swung out in front of him, pushing through a door and holding it open for him. Gojyo hated that about him, hated the chivalry and the friendliness and the easy way he did these things for him. He'd noticed how they walked, how Doku kept pace with him even though he tried to change it, how Doku had one eye always upon him. He half-expected the muscle to pull his chair out for him, but this did not occur.  
  
He did, however, take other presumptuous measures. "We don't need menus," he told their server. "Couple of blue-plates. I'll take water and he wants a beer."  
  
As soon as the young man nodded and darted in the direction of the kitchens, Gojyo hissed, "Could of let me pick my own drink."  
  
Doku smiled at him. "You seem like a beer-at-lunch kind of guy."  
  
The worst part was, Doku was right. Gojyo shifted on the hard, wooden chair and turned to look through his reflection and into the street. He sat silent, avoiding Doku's eyes and pressing hard onto the palm of his injured hand. The drinks came.  
  
The water came with a straw in it. Doku removed the plastic and took a sip from the brim of the glass, murmuring, "Dealing's gonna be tough, huh?"  
  
Gojyo didn't move his head, but only his eyes. From under his mess of red hair, he growled, "Cut the crap. You're gonna ask about him, so ask about him. That's what you brought me here for anyway, right?"  
  
Doku raised his eyebrows. "'Mitry? Couldn't care less. I brought you here because Reno thinks you're worthwhile and I'm curious. Seemed like a great time."  
  
Gojyo snorted. "Your timing's impeccable. Really." Doku chuckled softly and shrugged. "How is she?"  
  
"You miss her?" asked Doku. Before Gojyo can answer or refuse to dignify the question with response, he continued, "Just fine. Her brother's coming on hard times, though. She sends part of her paycheck to him now. He might be moving out here, just because he's been so often."  
  
"He was very good at Hold 'Em," Gojyo commented, still staring out the window. A girl caught his eye and waved happily to him with a bat of her ebony eyelashes. He nodded slightly and continued watching the world outside and talking to Doku as if he were on the other side of the glass. Gojyo watched his own mouth in his reflection. "Funny thing, Dallas hitting bad luck. It doesn't sound like him."  
  
"You knew him, then," said Doku.  
  
Gojyo responded without thinking. "Fucked him." He shoved the mouth of the beer bottle into his mouth to prevent further talk. Doku let out a long breath. Gojyo finally turned his face to him and grinned a bit. "Kind of guy I am."  
  
"Already knew it," Doku replied, "judging by the company you keep in dark alleys."  
  
Gojyo frowned, bringing his good fist down hard on the table. "Things are different now. I don't have to explain myself to you."  
  
Doku nodded. "No, you don't," he agreed. Gojyo turned again to the window, the dirty light filtering into their air-conditioned cocoon, heating the patches of skin it touched. Red eyes searched the streets, half-paranoid and half-angered.  
  
He turned to the calm and open face across from him, gentle despite its attachment to a neck as thick as a tree trunk. "Stop being so Goddamn' agreeable about everything!" Gojyo snarled, irked to the core.  
  
"Why?"  
  
The food came then, on blue flatware. Two gigantic open-faced hoagies and side orders of fries. Gojyo wasn't hungry, and said so.  
  
"What do you care?" asked Doku, digging in and swallowing before adding to his question. "I'm paying anyhow."  
  
Begrudgingly, Gojyo ate a fry. And then another. He took a swig of beer and stared down at his plate. "You can't let me fight you on anything, huh? Why's that?"  
  
"I fight enough." Doku wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I play Blackjack with worse people than you, so let me enjoy this."  
  
Gojyo's eyes opened a fraction wider. "Blackjack. You've got it on the nose. That's what this is about, huh?"  
  
"One Blackjack table in the whole joint and it's got to be yours. It's got to be our favorite game. But we're lucky because nobody would believe you if you told them." Doku raised both his eyebrows and Gojyo bit back a comment to the contrary. "I don't like mixing you up with those people. What happened today wasn't your fault."  
  
"Bullshit." Gojyo shook his head, meeting Doku's eyes with his own piercing glare. "It would have happened to me sooner or later. We've got a history, Dimitry and me." He grinned at Doku, looking lopsided and wolfish. "And anyway, there's nothing unconscionable going on between any of you, so there's nothing for me to be mixed in _with_, right?"  
  
Doku nodded. "No, there isn't. You're right."  
  
Without his permission, Gojyo had eaten half of the sandwich on his plate. He looked down at it in mild bemusement, not remembering when he had eaten it. He licked mustard from the corner of his mouth and murmured, "So what exactly is it that nobody would believe my retelling?"  
  
Doku glared at him. "Thin ice."  
  
"You bribing me?" asked Gojyo, pointing to the plate. "The whole savior bit, the beer, the food, the getting all buddy-buddy." Gojyo rubbed his nose, taking another drink from the bottle at his elbow. "I've been playing this game since I was a kid. It's not hard."  
  
"Since you were a kid?" There is a small, soft part yet to Doku, deep inside. His thoughts immediately ran to Lirin, and his heart ached just a bit for the man across from him.  
  
Gojyo snorted. "You want my life story?" The silence stretched between them after that statement for a few uncomfortable moments. Gojyo glanced down at his watch. "Raincheck. I'll be late for work." He pushed his chair away from the table with a loud scrape and wiggled the fingers of his injured hand. "Thanks for the beer. Don't get up."  
  
.  
  
Notes:  
  
Keistje: Next chapter will revolve mainly around Sanzo and Goku, and Nii. The comma is meant to denote that they definitely won't be appearing _together_. Eh heh. Glad you like my interpretation of Gojyo. I identify most easily with him and can't resist slipping into his skin more often than not. Indulgent me.  
  
Missantroop: Eh heh, well, whatever floats your boat. Personally, I think it's kind of sad...  
  
UltraM: Did I do okay? Gojyo-Jien dialogue isn't easy at all!  
  
Mezi: Two days, two months, hey, whatever. I am updating now, and that's all that matters! Eh heh... 


End file.
